


Secrets and Despair

by CreatorOfWorlds



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Elements, how to tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatorOfWorlds/pseuds/CreatorOfWorlds
Summary: Secrets between brothers is never a good thing, especially when it could put all their lives at risk. But, can their brotherhood survive?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP. There is no supernatural (not the tv series) elements in the first chapter, though there will be in following chapters.

The silence was grating on Athos' nerves. The stupid lad had barely said a word over the past two days of their journey, and none of them had a clue as to why. They were headed back to Paris after having completed their mission, which had just been a simple message to give a distant Comte an invitation to an upcoming ball from the king. Normally d'Artagnan would make conversation with all of them, even Athos, and join in on the jesting that often occurred when they went on missions. However, for some reason, he was being oddly quiet, and it was starting to make Athos irate.

The four men were staying in an Inn for the rest of the day and night, as the weather had gotten so bad, rain lashing against them as they tried to control their spooked horses, and thunder sounding in the sky so close that even Athos had flinched, ducking as though he were about to be struck by the noise, or the lightning.

Athos narrowed his eyes at the lad. It was his fault that the room was filled with tension. D'Artagnan normally offered his companions smiles and jokes, even joined in on card games. Alas, he sat on one of the two beds, legs curled under him, shoes on the floor next to the bed and was staring out the window at the flashing sky, his eyes far away and his lips pursed.

What on earth was going through the lads head?

Athos exchanged glances with Porthos and Aramis. They all had the same confused and questioning look on their faces.

“Well, come on, let's go get some food,” Aramis decided, breaking the silence that was getting decidedly gloomy. Porthos and Athos stood, glad for the chance to escape the room. D'Artagnan did not even glance their way.

“D'Art, are you coming?” Athos called out to the youngest member of their group. D'Artagnan slowly turned to look at them, blinking owlishly, after a moment, he shook his head.

“I'm not hungry. Thank you.” his words were slow and quiet and he turned back to the window. The three men stared at him for a moment before turning and heading out of the room, without arguing with the Gascon.

They walked down to the dining hall in a small group and ordered wine and food, a stew of some description apparently, and listened to the bustling that was going on around them, a complete change from their tension filled, silent room.

“What is up with the lad?” Porthos was the first to ask. He really liked d'Artagnan, and the young mans strange behaviour was starting to worry him.

“I've never seen him so silent before,” Aramis muttered, shaking his head. “Do you think it's about Constance?” They all knew how disastrous the ending to that relationship had been.

“I don't think so. D'Art never seems to hesitate to get his feelings for her off his chest” Porthos said with a shake of his head. The two looked over at Athos who had been silent so far in the conversation.

“What do you think?” Porthos asked him. Athos shrugged his shoulders, face honest.

“I have no idea. But whatever it is, it's messing with him,” he said.

–

After the three musketeers had eaten their fill and had several drinks, they finally decided to go back up to their room and face the tension again. All three men seemed to be trudging slowly, as though headed for the gallows rather than their comrade.

“It feels like we are heading up to be punished by our mother for doing the wrong thing,” Porthos muttered quietly as they neared their room. Both Aramis and Athos snorted, but neither denied the statement.

Upon entering their room, the three men gave pause. D'Artagnan was now curled up under the blankets on the same bed as before, eyes closed, seemingly fast asleep. Athos, Aramis and Porthos exchanged surprised glances. It was barely dark outside, and they had not been gone for too long. The sleeping lad surprised them. D'Artagnan was generally the last one of them to be asleep and first one to be awake.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Aramis muttered as he took a seat on the other bed. There were only two beds in the room, and normally none of the four hesitated to share one with their comrades, rather than sleeping on the cold hard floor. Aramis began pulling off his boots, and reclined on the pillows, eyes not leaving the sleeping boy.

“I didn't think he even knew how to sleep,” Porthos joked, as he removed his own boots and sat on the bed next to Aramis.

'He does tend to leave the sleeping to a minimum. Maybe it's decided to catch up to him, and he's just been tired lately and that's why he has been so quiet and grumpy,” Athos suggested, although it didn't particularly sound like he believe it himself. The other two shrugged.

It wasn't long before all the men were asleep. Athos had clambered on the empty side of the bed that d'Artagnan was sleeping in. As he was drifting off, Athos had been aware of the warmth radiating from the younger mans side of the bed. The warm presence letting him know someone else shared his bed.

Until d'Artagnan had come along, it was always he who had is own bed when in an inn with his brothers, Aramis and Porthos being relegated to sharing a bed. But now, with an extra man, it was required. The first handful of times Athos had hated it. He wasn't used to sharing a bed, but d'Artagnan had been a quiet, peaceful sleeper, hardly even shifting at all through out the night. Now, after sharing a bed so often, Athos was accustomed to sharing with the lad.

With Porthos' loud snoring filling the room, it took a while for a different noise to awaken Athos. It was quiet, almost pathetic, but it was coming from d'Artagnan. Tiny whimpers that broke free of the lads mouth, an unfamiliar sound from d'Artagnan. Athos peered through the dark, trying to make out his bed companion, but couldn't see a thing. So, he got out of bed and lit a candle, before turning back to look at d'Artagnan.

The lad was pale and had a frown upon his face, but, other than the occasional whimper, he seemed fine. Athos frowned down at the sleeping boy, blew out the candle and climbed back into bed. Perhaps d'Artagnan was just having a bad dream. It wasn't like the past several months had been completely peaceful, and the lad had been through some pretty traumatic experiences recently, so he could be entitled to the occasional nightmare.

-

Athos had gone back to sleep, and remained undisturbed until morning. While the daylight that was shining in through the window was bleak, it offered enough light to awaken the musketeer from his slumber. He lay on his back for several moments, staring up at the ceiling, contemplating how much he really needed to get out of bed, thinking that the need wasn't that great. It was Porthos' voice that made him decide he couldn't stay in bed all day.

“The lad is still asleep?” the big musketeer muttered from the other side of the room. Athos slowly sat up and turned questioning eyes on his bed companion, only to find that indeed, d'Artagnan was still asleep. Glancing further across the room showed him that the other two musketeers were both awake and sitting up in bed as well.

“It appears that way, yes,” Athos replied, eyes going back to the lad he had come to care for.

“Well, let him sleep for a little while longer, we will awaken him when we are ready to depart,” Aramis decided for them.

It wasn't long before the three older musketeers were ready to leave the inn, so they awoke their young companion.

“d'Art,” Athos called out, but the lad did not seem to hear as he didn't even twitch in movement. Athos repeated his name a second, louder time, and when that still did not disturb him, he reached over and shook the boy by the shoulders.

d'Artagnan actually awoke abruptly, his eyes flew open and he flinched away from Athos' touch, flinging himself onto the other side of the bed to escape the musketeers hands. Athos stared in shock at the violent way the lad had reacted. It was only a moment later though, that d'Artagnan had calmed down and seemed to have realised what he had done, for his eyes landed on Athos, and his mouth snapped shut.

"You startled me," d'Artagnan muttered, hiding his face in the pillow under his head, seemingly embarrassed.

"That was not my intention," Athos said quietly, shooting a glance at Aramis and Porthos, checking to make sure they had been witness to what had just occurred. The two men nodded their heads at them, both their eyes just as wide as he was sure his own were.

"We are just waiting on you so we can head for breakfast and then set out," Athos said to the lad. d'Artagnan grunted into the pillow his face was still buried in, his long hair covering the side of his face that should be visible to Athos.

"That means you need to rise and shine boy," Athos said, standing up and stepping back next to Aramis and Porthos. The three men watched with carefully schooled faces as d'Artagnan slowly rolled onto his back and pushed himself into a sitting position.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered. Athos raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't eat last night. You can eat breakfast," It had not gone unnoticed by either himself or his two companions how much the Gascon did not eat. Often he was found to leave a mostly full plate of food, hardly touched, or entirely avoid meals altogether. The three older musketeers had taken it upon themselves to try and keep d'Artagnan fed as much as possible. They tended to mother the young man sometimes, and none of them were even the remotest bit embarrassed by it.

d'Artagnan released a sigh and looked over at Athos, Porthos and Aramis, his eyes squinted as he peered at them.

"Why are you all standing there, staring at me?" he asked, his voice still small and weak, like it had been the night before.

"We are just waiting on you to get dressed so that we can eat and leave," Porthos told him. Athos watched as d'Artagnan nodded his head slowly and climbed off the bed, his feet landing straight in his boots. It seemed that for a moment there the lad swayed on his feet, but, he remained standing as he pulled on his over shirt.

Within minutes, d'Artagnan had his sword, knife and pistol strapped to his belt, and was heading to the door.

"Come on men. I haven't got all day," He called back over his shoulder at Athos, Porthos and Aramis, like it wasn't he who everyone had been waiting on. For a bright moment, Athos thought that the lad was back to his normal self. But, upon sitting at the table opposite him, he saw the frown that could rival thunderclouds marring his good looking face.

Food was brought to them presently, and while the three older musketeers began scoffing their food down like starved animals, d'Artagnan merely pushed his around with his spoon.

"Eat, d'Art," Athos commanded the lad. d'Artagnan glanced up at him through lowered eyelashes and dark fringe, his lips a thin line.

"I told you I'm not hungry," d'Artagnan said. Athos shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, well we have a long journey ahead of us, and it would be in your best interests if you just ate the food that was given to you, rather than let it go to waste. There are children starving out there and you don't even have the good grace to eat it?" Athos didn't mean to sound so harsh, but the lad had been killing the atmosphere for days and it was starting to wear thin.

d'Artagnan glared at Athos for a moment, before turning his face to the bowl before him and slowly bringing a spoonful of the gruel to his mouth. Athos watched as each spoonful was slowly brought to those pale lips. He didn't miss the slight tremble of the lips either, but chose not to comment on it. He couldn't see the expression in d'Artagnans eyes because of his hair, but Athos had no doubt that they would be filled with anger.

Athos, Porthos and Aramis had all finished their meals by the time d'artagnan had even finished a half of his, ever the slow eater. But none of them left the table while their youngest was still eating. Instead, they conversed in quiet murmurs of their route and plan for the day. Although they were not excluding d'Artagnan from the conversation, the lad chose not to involve himself, as had been common for the past couple of days, something that had been uncommon on previous missions.

Finally, after what felt an age, d'Artagnan finished his bowl of gruel, spoon landing back in it with a low clatter, and he pushed it away from himself. He kept his head bowed away from Athos, not letting the older man see his face, which confused Athos, as d'Artagnan was not someone that hid from anyone, he always wore his head high with pride.

The four musketeers headed outside to their horses and began their days journey. Athos, Porthos and Aramis strategically placed d'Artagnan in the middle of themselves, so they could keep a better eye on the young man, who was riding his horse in silence while the other three chatted amongst themselves.

It was only because of d'Artagnans position between the three musketeers that Athos even noticed the way the young man was listing on his horse; slowly sliding off the side, his hands lax on the reigns, and his face pale in the weak light from the sun.

"d'Artagnan!" Athos snapped, startling the young musketeer back into focus. With a jolt, d'Artagnan pulled himself back into proper position, and turned his dark eyes on Athos.

"Yes?" he asked quietly.

"Focus, boy. Stop day dreaming and pay attention," Athos snapped. He was expecting d'Artagnan to make some snappy comment back, but wasn't entirely surprised when he just turned away from him.

"Yes, Athos," was the dull response he got a moment later. For several minutes, d'Artagnan was sitting with his back straight, head held high like was his custom, but before long, he was slowly sinking into a slouch that looked highly uncomfortable and he only held onto the reigns with one hand. Athos felt his temper rising at the lads lack of attention.

He opened his mouth to snap at d'Artagnan once more, but was startled into closing his mouth when d'Artagnan literally jumped off his horse, scrambled to the side of the road and landing on his knees. From his position on his horse, Athos could hear the retching. Athos winced at the sounds that escaped the lad. He jumped off his horse an ran to kneel beside d'Artagnan, grabbing his hair and pulling it back out of his face.

"Why did you not mention that you were feeling sick?" Athos asked quietly into the young mans ear during a pause in retching. d'Artagnan just groaned in response, before vomiting once more. Athos felt Porthos and Aramis standing at his back, but he didn't bother glancing at them, his concern for the sick lad before him greater.

"It was unimportant," d'Artagnan choked out between one breath and the next, as he sat back on his haunches, raising a shaking hand to his lips, a grimace on his face. Athos refrained from looking at the mess the lad had made on the ground before them.

"It is not unimportant. If you are feeling unwell then you need to let us know," Athos said softly. d'Artagnan groaned and shuffled to the side, leaning against a tree and closing his eyes.

"It's not that bad. I didn't want to interrupt the mission," he murmured, his eyes closed, Athos' hand now resting on his shoulders. Athos didn't miss the shivers that were coursing through d'Artagnans slim frame.

"And what if we had been attacked and you were too sick to fight?" Athos demanded of the younger man. He didn't mean for the words to come out so harshly, but the worry of what could happen to d'Artagnan, or any of them, if that situation were to arise, was enough to have Athos wanting to reach for a bottle of wine.

"Yet we weren't," came d'Artagnans small reply. There was no heat or strength in his voice, and that was one of the reasons that Athos chose not to continue with his reprimanding of d'Artagnan. Athos glanced at Aramis and Porthos, who had both stepped back, hovering several feet away as d'Artagnan recupperated. At his glance, though, Aramis stepped forward, kneeling before the youngest musketeer.

"d'Artagnan? Are you well enough to ride?" He asked.

Athos watched d'Artagnan for his response. He didn't need to be the medic like Aramis was to tell that d'Artagnan probably should not ride on. However, there really was little they could do about that.

"I'll be fine. It's not that uncommon," d'Artagnan opened his eyes finally, his brown gaze sweeping his three companions. Athos frowned at the boys choice of words.

"What do you mean by that?" Aramis demanded. He had apparently caught on to that as well, and has jumped in before Athos could open his own mouth. "Because since meeting you, I have rarely seen you ill," the medic continued, frowning at d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan's gaze stopped on Aramis. His eyes wider than Athos had ever seen them, and he was biting at his bottom lip, something Athos had never seen him do, even at his most nervous.

"I... I get bad headaches sometimes, and when I get them I become nauseous and ill," d'Artagnan didn't sound sure of himself, but he stared Aramis in the eye resolutely, the stubboness and pig-headedness that was so familiar on the young mans face was mildly relieving. Aramis apparently thought so to, because he backed away from the younger man with a nod.

"Fair enough, d'Artagnan. If you feel you are able to ride, you can do so. But, we shall take it easy, until you are no longer shaking like a damned leaf," Aramis said. Athos nodded his head in agreeance when d'Artagnan shot him a questioning glance.

Athos stood up, and was unsurprised that d'Artagnan struggled to rise himself, instead using the tree for support, rather than asking one of his brothers for help. The boy walked slowly towards his horse, the older three men ahead of him, and once he was seated, the four musketeers set back out onto the road.


End file.
